


Summer Day

by Kittywitch



Series: Reconstruction Era O.Z. [3]
Category: Tin Man (2007)
Genre: Gen, Global Warming, M/M, Summer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 06:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittywitch/pseuds/Kittywitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a hot summer day, Queen Lavender Eyes calls her court together to tell them something has gone wrong with the Sun Seeder. The days are growing longer, the climate's changing, and Glitch seems to be the only one happy about this.<br/>This is set in the Reconstruction Era, after the battle for the O.Z. has been won.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Day

Summer Day

 

The two suns arched across the sky and beat down on the world below. In the afternoon, the palace had gone quiet, as for all their various duties and the chaos that needed to be cleaned up after the coup that had returned the royal family to their rightful place; all inhabitants of the castle were too hot and drowsy to move.

 

            The viewers, freed from the dungeons, had been taken in to have the wounds they had received during capture properly tended to. Azkadellia, in particular, took interest in seeing them returned to health, perhaps as a sort of penance for the part she had in getting them in that state. Though she insisted the witch was gone, the face was too associated in most people's minds with the rather lengthy reign of terror her body had been used to rule.

            Even that seemed forgotten today, as the viewers lay in the courtyard, dozing, sunning themselves like cats and being in most ways very reminiscent of a pride of lions sleeping after an afternoon gorge. Or, that they had reached the natural state of all cats and cat-like beings, a semi-vicous liquid. The child Kalm dozed near Raw, his eyes fluttering occasionally. With his vest open more to welcome the sun's heat than to cool off, the lines of Raw's ribcage were exposed, heaving slightly as he breathed.

 

            "You're a lazy little SOB, you know that?" Cain asked idly. The horse did not answer, but showed the first sign of vigor it had all afternoon as it came in sight of the stable. It trotted into the shade, it's flanks giving a shiver that suggested it's rider would be off soon, whether or not he dismounted. Cain frowned at the horse.

            "Look kid, my job is too keep the royal family safe. Your job is to let me move fast enough to do that." he said with annoyance. "You really have the light end of it."

The horse flicked it's tail impatiently in response. The tinman gave up on conversation and dropped off of the bay, running a hand across his face to wipe off some of the sweat. The tinman was nearly as drenched as the horse. It cantered into it's stall and immediately set to drinking.

            "Hold up, we need to get that saddle off of you."

He followed the horse into the muck. It was clean, for a stable. But it was still a stable. The dun across from them raised it's head slightly to watch them. This was slightly more interesting than the patch of straw it was contemplating until they entered.

            Cain undid the buckles on the harness and saddle and lifted the saddle off, shifting it to a precarious perch on his shoulder until he could get the bit out. Removing the harness with a saddle on his shoulder was harder than he remembered it, but he wasn't going to struggle, someone was watching him. Even if it was just a horse.

            "Don't you have anything better to do?" Wyatt asked the blond horse. The expression on it's face said "Of course I don't, I'm a horse." as much as it said anything else. Wyatt sighed and took as much of the trappings as he could carry out of the stall. Unsaddling the horse before it went into it's stall would have been easier, but it had no interest in going out for the rest of the day. Cain couldn't say that he blamed it.

 He grabbed the brush and bucket on his way back to the horse, who gave him a disgusted look. But you didn't ride a horse on a day like today without sluicing it off afterwards, even if the horse was an asshole.

            It didn't seem like a bad idea, actually. He set down the bucket, stripped to the waist, remembering to remove his hat only at the last minute, and dumped about half the bucket over his head. He then replaced the hat, and went to work on the horse.

 

 

 

            "Really, my love. I think you'd enjoy it."

            "Ahamo, I cannot. I have to maintain some dignity."

            "Phaf. No one's around, and if they were they'd be too heatsick to notice." Ahamo smiled at his wife, and moved his hands behind his head. The marble pillar and tiling beneath him sucked the heat slowly from his body as he sat, gazing up at the queen.

            There was time for calm now. There was much in the Outer Zone that needed to be rebuilt, put to right, and more or less cleaned, but the war was over and the peace that followed seemed as much a product of exhaustion as tranquility. But he was here. He was returned to his wife and his daughters, and there was nothing to suggest he'd have to leave them again. All he had now was time.

            He looked up at the queen and smiled. She smiled back.

The warm air closed over him like a blanket, with the smooth coolness of the marble beneath him he found himself more comfortable than anyone lying on stone had any right to be. He closed his eyes.

            There was time now. There was even time to sleep.

 

 

 

It had been too long since she'd had the opportunity to just sit down and draw. Even after the relative peace after vanquishing the witch, there had been too much to do. It was like a knife had been stabbed into the heart of the Outer Zone, and now, even though it had been removed, the wound needed to be cleaned and dressed or it would bleed out. But for some reason, neither princess could keep her mind on the reconstruction this afternoon. Maybe it was just too hot to think.

            Or do anything else, really.

Azkadellia lay with level of effortless grace that frustrated her sister, spread across a wicker fainting couch with a book in her lap. Deegee wasn't aware that there was generally a great call for wicker fainting couches, but she wouldn't have put it past her sister to have on commissioned. It would explain how it matched her dress. The younger sister looked up from the paper she was drawing on to her sister, then back at the page. The chalk smeared onto her hands, sweaty with the heat. Idly, and without thinking, Deegee rubbed a chartreuse smear onto the thigh of her white dress, trying to get her hands dry enough to finish the chalk drawing.

            "You did it again, Deeg."

            "I did what?" she asked, not looking up.

            "You wiped the chalk off on your dress."

            "Okay, it's one thing to pick out my clothes, but you do not need to tell me every time I get them dirty."

            "It's a white dress, DG." Azkadellia said with a pained voice. "And I'm your big sister. I get to nag you about things like that."

            "I'm just saying I don't think your obsession with my clothes is healthy."

            "It's not just your clothes, Deeg."

            "That's right. I'm just the only one who needed a full makeover."

            "You only had the one outfit and it wasn't even from this dimension."

            "So you had me attacked by tailors."

            "You weren't attacked. And there's a difference between a seamstress and a tailor. Some princess you are, not knowing that."

            "You're just a harmless fashionista these days, aren't you?"

            "Everyone needs a hobby." Azkadellia shrugged, which was impressive considering the shoulder pads she was wearing. Someone had apparently decided to make a set of armor out of paper fans, but decided it was a bad idea  after the pauldrons. There was also a ruff, remarkably fan-like in that it folded slightly as she shrugged. If the shrug was intended to cause a breeze, it was as affective as could be expected. The rest of her outfit was made of white gauze, tied up with green cords. It would have looked roman, if romans wore thigh-high spike heeled sandals. Deegee thought it kind of looked like a stripper suddenly decided she needed an outfit made out of paper fans and a chiton.

She had convinced her sister to wear something similar, though Deegee seemed more concerned about sunburn than her sister. Despite the fact her dress was shorter, it looked significantly less promiscuous than her sister's. Perhaps it was the lack of slits. Or the smocking.

            "Anyway, you didn't exactly bring alot of clothes with you when you returned." Az continued. "And you look good in traditional clothes."

            "Eh, I don't mind." Deegee said in an offhand tone. "I'm just not really sure if what you're wearing is what most people would call... traditional. I mean, mother doesn't dress like that."

            "Well, it's not traditional for women of a certain age." Azkadellia responded with an airy flutter or her hand. DG narrowed her eyes at her sister, then smiled and shook her head. It was not worth arguing, and definitely not in this weather. She stretched back her arms and slouched deep into the round-backed wicker chair. All of the windows were open in their solar, but it did little to help.

Shaking her head, the younger sister smiled slightly as she returned to work, an intent and rapt expression. The speed of her sketching increased, and her eyes dilated. Azkadellia lifted her head.

            "Deegee." she said softly. Her sister didn't respond. It occurred to her only then that, despite the fact she had been facing her as she lounged, glancing up at times to talk to her, she probably wasn't drawing Azkadellia's portrait. One didn't get that expression when drawing their sister.

            The expression of a woman in love looked out of place when worn by her little sister. Who would she be thinking of with that wistful smile on her face? Somehow, she doubted it was the poorly-groomed seer barely able to make eye contact without screaming like a little girl. That left the advisor and the Tinman, and while either of them could be argued as gaining her attention, Azkadellia hadn't seen either of them give her sister attention she would call romantic. Deegee barely knew anyone else in the Zone, and if it was someone who she'd left behind when she crossed back then she wouldn't seem so happy about it.

            And while that curly-haired son of Cain was attractive enough, and certainly closer to her age than anyone else who'd passed through the castle recently, she wasn't sure she'd actually seen them speak to each other. At all. Perhaps Az had read her sister's expression wrong?

            Azkadellia rose, paper and gauze swishing in the dry air  as she crossed the room. She circled round and lay her cheek on the high back of the woven chair, looking down at her sister's sketch.

            It had always marveled Azkadellia how well her sister could draw from memory. Their father had taught them both well, but in order to catch any real likeness, much less the likeness of a vista, Az would have had to look at it.

            Deegee had returned home, the prodigal daughter, and saved her homeland. She knew she belonged there. All of the disquiet and restlessness she had felt growing up, in a world she wasn't even sure existed, had been both explained and dispelled all at once. Her sister had been quiet right, she was drawing her love.

            The Outer Zone spread itself across the paper in Deegee's lap, in brilliant colors only slightly exaggerated as the sun crested over the castle they even now stood in. Through brilliance of colors and glistening light, that which had been so ominous before shone like hope. It was art in it's highest form, the sort that reminded you just how beautiful something you saw every day was. Az's breath nearly caught in her throat.

            Deegee hadn't realized that her sister had rose and circled round her, and even now stood over her shoulder, watching as she drew. Deegee had allowed herself to get lost in her work and her thoughts. She wiped the sticky paste of chalk dust and sweat off on her skirt again. It was too hot to draw. The multicolored goo filled the lines of her palm. The scar was gone, but it still felt strange. It itched, it chafed; that whole arm felt heavier then the other. It was like a reminder that, while she had ended the reign of terror, she hadn't finished her work for this land. Her land. She'd stopped the destruction. But she hadn't saved it yet.

            The question wouldn't quiet it's self in Deegee's mind. What was rest, and what was stagnation?

 

 

            Insects hummed to a near silence in the garden. They were going in now. It was too hot for them. The sunlight turned everything it touched gold, making the bright green leaves and red blossoms in the garden look ostentatious.

            Tutor, in human form, looked a bit like a sugar baron in his crisp linen suit, twirling a thin straw in his fingers. It was probably too early to be drinking, but it had ice and it was so very tasty. The mint made him feel cooler. His eyelids were heavy, but in a pleasant way. It was so still, all he could hear was the ice crackling as it melted in his drink. He had considered shifting to dog form, there was less of him to keep cool that way, but what there was was totally covered in long fur. He supposed he could wet his fur down easily enough, there was a convenient-looking fountain across the garden, but that would mean standing up. There was no reason for that.

            It was a pity about the Mystic Man. Only recently, with the cleaning of the dungeons, they had found his body and given it a proper burial. Tutor had only met with him once, in a formal situation when the princesses were still quite young. He had such an interesting mind; it was a waste that he'd gone like that.

            His thoughts then went to the minds that were now forming the future of the OZ. He touched his glass to his forehead and went back to thinking about how he was slightly overheated. It was a much more comforting thought.

 

 

 

            Elbows on the window still, he breathed in slowly; his smile spreading even wider. He could smell the fields of the papay blooming, though he knew they were far away. It was a clear day, and the only breeze one could find was up in the towers, where the advisor kept his suite.

            Kept was a very general term, as since he had returned to it, it had been eaten up by chaos. Sketches of devices whose purpose he could not remember littered the walls, helping hide the fact that more of them had been drawn on the plaster itself. Small objects covered the dresser, the desk, the floor, ranging in usefulness from modified guns, to canisters intended to contain Moritainium, to a single boot far too small for him. And hundreds of more papers, and more books. Glitch had been terrified to discover he'd written some of them. There wasn't so much a bed as a pile of pillows and blankets which very possibly had a bed frame under it.

            He closed his eyes with a contented expression as a breeze came through the window, lifting his hair and blowing through the slit in the top of his head. He had been much better groomed since he'd returned to his office, though there was really only so much that could be done. His curls had been irreparably dreaded, but it served to keep his hair out of his zipper. Like Deegee, Glitch's clothing had been replaced for something fitting his station and the warm weather.

            For the first time in ages, it was warm enough that he was comfortable taking off his vest, undershirt and coat. It was as if he were completely submerged into warm water.

            Glitch had forgotten what it was like to wear clean clothing. But after that, he forgot that he had forgotten, and been left with an inexplicable feeling of contentment and comfort. He straightened up from the windowstill and spun on his heel, bounding across the room. He was hungry. He'd slept through breakfast, and lunch was probably coming soon.

            As he crossed to the doorway, he saw a note tacked to it, written in is own handwriting.

 

keys

notes

shoes

xyz

 

A second piece of paper had been placed beside it, with an arrow pointing to the word "notes".

 

reconstruction

mobat reassignment

-or execution

princess rehabilitation

papay reclaimati

a machine that makes popcorn, shaped like a clown

(the popcorn comes out of the clown's mouth)

 

            Between the article about the reclamation of the fields of the papay and the popcorn machine, there were a few random loops in his cursive, as if he forgotten what he was writing mid-word. There was also a sketch of the popcorn machine, and despite the fact it was his idea he thought it was mildly terrifying.

            Ambrose turned back into his room, glancing around for notebooks likely to have any of those things in them. Checking various places, mostly near the door, he found a moleskin with two  essays written in it, one on possible uses for mobats in a reformed Outer Zone, one describing in lively detail ways he would personally like to see them dispatched. Underneath it was a list of professionals better qualified then himself to psychologically assess Azkadellia; written on the side of another sketch of a creepy clown with popcorn coming out of it's mouth. It wasn't a very good drawing, Deegee could do it better.

            That was enough, any more and he'd probably get distracted. He straightened, items in hand, and proceeded toward the door, when he realized there was more to the list.

 

shoes

 

            The advisor looked down. Huh. He could have sworn his socks matched when he got up. He also was surprised he didn't notice he was in his stocking feet. He set down the notebooks and turned back into his room. A mess of various footwear had collected under the desk, not counting the child's boot on top of a stack of books, jumbled together, laces tangling and toes stuck in the body of other shoes. He rummaged through it for a while, looking for a pair, and was rewarded by having the stack collapse into his knees. He didn't think he even owned that many shoes.

            His eyes narrowed as he picked up a particularly unfamiliar brown number to examine it closer. It was bigger than the rest of them, too big for him for wear; it's leather was shiny but not from care. It was the gleam of leather that had been rubbed by years of wear. Dark, reddish brown. He lifted it to his nose experimentally, then grimaced and pushed it away.

            It smelled _as_ strongly as the rest of his shoes, but not in the same way. It smelled... well, it smelled like Cain, but that raised the question what was one of Cain's boots doing in his bedroom? And where was the other one?

            Glitch stood up and added the boot to the pile of things he was taking with him and picked it all up. He looked back at the list one more time, sure that he'd forgotten something.

 

xyz

 

What did that mean? He'd wrote it himself, he recognised the handwriting. It must have meant something. Something important. Something he couldn't leave his quarters without doing. _Xyz. Xyz. Maybe it's spelled wrong? Zizz?_ Onomatopoeia? _What goes Xyz? Xyz. X. Y. Z. Examine Your Zipper._

            Glitch touched the top of his head. It was open.

Glitch pulled the zipper closed with a sheepish expression. He always forgot. Well, that's what the list was for. Just as he started to open the door, he paused, smiled to himself, and picked up the notebooks. He didn't have to look at the list for that. He was getting better.

            He felt the temperature drop by degrees with each floor he descended. It was refreshing, like sipping a cool drink. His speed increased the further he went, and he passed more people in the hallways. He smiled and waved his free hand, and his loose white shirt billowed as he moved. There were still far fewer inhabitants of the castle, at least outside of the dungeons. They were filled to bursting with longcoats.

            And those he passed bowed their heads slightly as they passed. He couldn't see why. He was only an advisor to the queen, hardly royalty himself. But it was flattering.

            He paused on a landing. He was on his way to find the queen, but this was the same floor as the princesses' solar. No reason not to drop in and apprise them of the progress made in the reconstruction. Well, there was the fact that Azkadellia still creeped him out, but it wasn't a good reason.

He shook his head and bounced off towards their solar.

            "Your excellencies." he said softly, bowing his head slightly as he entered. Deegee looked up and smiled.

            "You don't need to be formal, Glitch." she said. "It's just us." He grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

            "I figured I might as well do that much, seeing as that's probably all I'm going to do." He laughed, allowed Deegee to hug him, then briefly nodded to Azkadellia. Azkadellia frowned slightly and turned her face away.

            He tried to hide it, but Glitch was still scared of her. She shouldn't have been surprised, it really would be too much to ask the people not to associate her with what her body had been used to do. But she'd hoped... not everyone. Just some people. Just the people who knew her before the witch took over. She'd hoped they'd remember. Deegee's memory was still spotty, and for that matter so was Ambrose's, but they'd known her before the witch.

Her mother's advisor was never as close to her as her sister, he'd been a young man in that brief time before they found the witch's cave. Even if he did have a clear memory of her, it would have been the memory of the little girl, smarter, primmer, cleaner, better at lessons than her sister. A twelve year old and a prat.

            No. If Ambrose had a clear memory of her, it would have been of the woman who ordered his brain to be removed. He was a useless scrap of a man, and even if it wasn't really her who made him that way, she'd been used to do it. Of course he was terrified of her. After all, why is it he would be any different than the rest of the O.Z.?

            As Azkadellia mused to herself, the younger princess and the advisor had started up a conversation.

            "Yeah, we missed you at breakfast, which was weird..."

            "Was it good?" Glitch asked wistfully.

            "It just some of the fruit from Papay with a little cream on-" she stopped, seeing the expression on Glitch's face.

            "Now I'm _really_ hungry." he pouted.

            "Then don't skip meals."

            "I don't mean to, I just-" he looked down into his arms as if he's forgotten they were full of notebooks.

            "I've got a list right here-" he shifted the books to his right arm, patted several pockets with his left and gave up on finding it. "Outlining... some issues..." Deegee looked down.

            "Where are your shoes?"

            "I knew I forgot something." He looked at his feet thoughtfully. "Maybe that's why people were bowing to me in the halls. They might have just been looking at my feet." He wiggled his toes and shrugged.

            Azkedelia looked up at the inventor.

            "You said you had a list?" she asked. His face fell.

            "Maybe in one of those notebooks?" Deegee offered. She came forward and took one of the notebooks off the top of the stack. He poured the remainder of the books unceremoniously into a chair and he and DG started looking through them, the elder princess watching with the detached expression worn by cats while their humans exercise or do their taxes.

            Glitch grinned and opened one triumphantly.

            "Ah! Here it is!" he crowed. "Reconstruction, mobat re-"

            The elder princess drew to her feet, taking one of her sister's chalks as she stood. She removed the notebook from Glitch's hands, made an amendment to the list, and returned it to him.

            He checked the new list.

            " 'Ambrose's brain' ?" he asked.

            "Why do we keep putting off putting it back in?"

            "I- uh... I don't know, really." he answered sheepishly. Holding out one of the notebooks she was checking, Deegee's expression became skeptical.

            " 'Fire them out of a cannon and see how well they fly at terminal velocity' ?" she read aloud. Glitch snatched the book out of her hands.

            "It's a very important experiment." he muttered.

 

 

 

 

            As droplets of water fell from his waist, part of Cain wondered if they'd turn to steam when they hit the floor. They wouldn't, as it happened, since Ahamo knew what Cain did not, the floor was the coolest part of the castle. The afternoon rounds were done and the outer perimeter of the palace was secure. There were other people in the palace guards, some of whom he even went so far as to trust to _attempt_ to do their jobs, but not necessarily trust as people. Given how the people best qualified to be palace guards got that way by serving the greatest threat the O.Z. had ever faced, there was a certain amount of working with what he could get in the personnel department. Cain would just have to make up the difference himself.

 

            He heard voices coming from the hallway in front of him. Three, all talking at once. They were happy and not trying to be quiet, so it was very unlikely that they were dangerous. It is true that a potential threat could laugh just as loudly as someone who belonged there, they probably would have been walking faster. One of them was wearing high heels, one of them had shoes with soft soles, and one of them was barefoot.

            This entire thought process took place in the three seconds before he recognized the sound of his friends' laughter. He couldn't make the words out yet, but apparently Deegee found whatever Glitch had just said hilarious.

            Wyatt did not see the point in increasing his speed or making his presence known to the other people in the hall. They would see him soon enough. As he expected, it only took a moment for the princesses and the inventor to appear at the turn in the hallway, and as he expected, they called out to him as soon as they saw him.

            " _Cain!_ "

            "Good morning, Glitch. You forgot breakfast."

            "What, again?" the inventor gasped. "I've got to start writing that down somewhere..." Azkadellia glanced over at Glitch and slowly shook her head in disbelief.

            "Hey, Mister Cain." said Deegee, raising her hand in greeting. Her eyes narrowed. "Tell me that's not sweat."

            "I'll tell you anything you want, princess." he grumbled.

            "Do I take that to mean that is sweat? That's disgusting." Azkadellia commented.

            "Not all of it is mine." the tinman said with a shrug. "And most of it isn't sweat."

            "Water? Lay it on me." said Glitch, stepping forward from the group and extending his arms. He seemed to have forgotten just how much he was carrying, and much of it fell to the ground. Cain looked from his friend to the fallen books, then back to Glitch. His expression grew quizzical.

            "Are you suggesting I hug you?" he asked skeptically. Glitch raised his eyebrows in a manner that suggested that not only did he not see the problem, the fact Cain did was irritating. Cain shook his head.

            "Forget it, Glitch. It's too hot to hug."

            "It's never to hot to hug!" the inventor protested, raising his arms and moving towards the other man. Cain took a step back and flicked his eyes to the floor.

            "So Glitch, gonna pick up those books or what?"

            "If 'what' means chase you down until you relent to being hugged, I don't think he'll be picking up the books." Azkadellia commented quietly.

            "Usually it's the wet person who threatens to hug the dry one." Deegee added in her usual bemused tone.

            "Have you two noticed the interest you've taken in my interaction with Glitch since the Zone was saved?" he asked the princesses, politely dodging his friend. "Do you think you could explain it?"

            "Not if we tried." Deegee answered flatly. The inventor wove around the group playfully, rather looking as if he was a child playing tag. And interested in getting Cain even if it meant tackling him.

            "Stop." Cain raised his hand, nearly bracing it against Glitch's chest.

Ambrose stood with his arms extended toward Wyatt and pouted. The tinman drew his gun on him. The inventor dropped his arms and resumed conversation.

 

 

            "You're wet." said Glitch.

            "You're barefoot." Cain replied. The blinked and looked at what he was carrying. "And you have my shoe."

            "Shoes! It's always something..."

            "Why do you have my boot?"

            "Why are _you_ covered in sweat that isn't yours?" Glitch countered.

            "I was riding."            Glitch's eyes grew in size.

            "Horses." Cain said flatly. Glitch's expression worsened.

            " _Glitch!"_

            "I'm sorry! When your mind starts to go downhill it's hard to break its momentum!"

            Deegee laughed and shook her head at her sister. Azkadellia gave that weak sort of smile often worn by people who feel as if they’ve missed a joke but do not want it explained.

            “Where were you headed, Cain?” asked Deegee.

            “At the moment?” he asked. With a shrug, Cain took his boot away from Glitch and held it awkwardly. He wasn’t wearing his coat, so he could hardly ram it in that pocket, and the idea of putting anything in his trouser pockets was simply out of the question.

            “We were on our way to the throne hall.” said Azkadelia.

            “To chat with mom.” added Deegee.

            “About scheduling a very important meeting about the ongoing fate of the O.Z.” Glitch finshed.

            “I think I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.” said Cain, shifting his position in the group. While an attack in the palace was unlikely, in the event of on, he and Glitch, being the better fighters, would do the most good flanking the princesses. Glitch glanced over at his companion and wondered if he'd done something wrong. The four of them moved down the hall together.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by it being too damn hot out one day and thinking that Glitch would probably enjoy it, even though I myself was miserable.


End file.
